Of Bashful Idiots and Strange Complexes
by Mesua Ferrea
Summary: Arthur Kirkland was not a man to be trifled with. His pride is all too much for anyone to bear, but what happens if you have no choice but to be with him? You deal with him until your sanity snaps.  England x Fem!Canada
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fanfic ever so please excuse the crapiness in which some of you may read. I will say that it is up to you to enjoy it and any injuries, insults, loss of blood and off-puttings created by said story means that I either suck at this or you are jumping all over the walls in an attempt to do something…. In that case, I claim no responsibility to your injuries.

This happens sometime before the Seven Years' War and the location is in today's Newfoundland. From what I can recall from grade 8 social studies (which by the way, isn't a lot), the place was under British control. I wasn't trying to be too historically inaccurate but I didn't want to try to be too specific either in this chapter.

Warnings: Language, historical inaccuracy, potential OOCness (taste the Colonial!England but I doubt that any of you can eat him), England being a pedophile and a jerk, weirdness, Canadian spelling, France's spectacular hobbies, updates at random times, etc…

Characters: Fem!Canada, Colonial!UK. Mentions of France and USA in this chapter.

Pairings: Slight Fem!CanUK (fem!Canada x England) if you want to see it. There is nothing stopping me from having you do so. Pairing moments will differ from chapter to chapter.

Word count: 1971

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia. This is probably a good thing.

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><p><strong>Awkward First Encounters and the Musings of a Cynical Man<strong>

_You could practically call him insane and no one would question you!_

* * *

><p>The personification of England was a man (and no we are not questioning his gender or his… err hobbies). He took pride in and boasted about his gentlemanly manners to the point where one could say he crossed the line of gentlemanly modesty and profusely beat the point in at times. England, or Arthur as he liked to call himself, was well aware of this fact. But that was not the only thing he relentlessly touched upon. Of course it wasn't. This is <em>the <em>Arthur Kirkland we're talking about. It wasn't enough to delightedly shove that one small trait repeatedly into their faces; he had to bring light all of them to those who were (and eventually will be) under his foot. It was in his, and the majority of Europe's, nature. Who were they to question him?

When it came down to it, you could practically strip and melt down Arthur's personality and get pure eurocentrism – or Arthurcentrism, as he liked to coin his as (that made him seem better and different than those other Europeans. God forbid Arthur be bunched with the likes of _them_). It was a cold ideal that many of the European countries held at that time. The urge to conquer. The need to explore. The desire to be rich. All of those qualities were found inside him, and the voices of insanity simply tempted him far too much. He had no choice but to listen.

_It was an instinct now_.

Those voices were the ones that lulled him to sleep. They fed him. They provided for him. They fulfilled all his dreams. He was above all.

That was until he ran face-first into a major roadblock.

How could that pompous, old Frog-face beat him to the vast riches of the New World's north?

Obtaining his sweet, dear America was simple. A few visits here, some tears there, and voilà, you got yourself an adorable, young, loyal colony. That and driving off those dreadfully weak fools who dared to obtain the boy first worked wonders.

This was incomprehensible. Not the Frog, but _I _should have the North. But it seemed as if it was never meant to be.

Whatever Arthur managed to obtain was simply not enough. The sphere of influence he had over Rupert's Land was, by no means, _enough_. It. Was. _Not_. _Enough_.

He needed more. _More._

While that wine bastard was raking in the riches (and doing many dirty and unspeakable things to the Indians), Arthur was barely getting by attempting to colonize the North.

Sure, some of the Northern locals were nice, but if they aligned with the French then any fighting between himself and the Frog's Indians were a waste of supplies and time.

The terrain there was different from that of his own home, but he could manage. The chance to explore was too much for him to resist. It was always a fond hobby of his ever since his more rebellious days as a pirate.

It was the winter that drove Arthur practically beyond the realms of sanity. It was as if General Winter had a vendetta against him. What had England done to make him angry?

It was too cruel.

It was a lack of time (and awareness) caused the Briton to lose a valuable piece – the personification of the North himself. The poor thing. Living under the pervert's control, speaking that ugly language and being called that God awful name _Novelle-France_.

_Despicable._

* * *

><p>With a great deal of luck (and an ample amount of surprise), the Englishman had coincidentally stumbled upon the personification of the north. The young child was in his jurisdiction!<p>

Arthur could only find himself relishing and savouring the sight before him.

The child was innocently picking wildflowers with his strange white animal friend acting as some sort of parental watch. As England approached the colony, the bear let out a low growl like a mother of his species would. This appeared to have shocked the child as he spun around, his white nightgown daintily swaying with the quick movement. The child stared at Arthur and became uneasy while Arthur would only match said stare at the diminutive child.

He had skin as white as the snow that rained down from above on the lands for much of the year.

_Want._

His eyes were a deep purple – like the colour of the purple pansies that flourished across Arthur's land. Yet, upon closer examination, they flickered to other gorgeous colours within that one deep mauve.

_Desire._

His curly hair, worn long, simply cascaded down from his shoulders. It was too long for a normal boy but that did not distract Arthur - nothing a pair of scissors couldn't fix.

_Need_.

The swirls of temptation were building up in Arthur's stomach and his feet yearned to move, to be closer to the boy, and his skin felt prickly from the excitement. He prepared his mouth to use whatever means possible to coax the child nearer to him. To truly pluck him from the land and take back what is his. But the desire is firmly held back as he pierces his gums with his teeth to prevent his lips from moving out of their own accord, and the copper taste of blood slowly brings Arthur back to reality. Now simply was not the time to claim him. It was too soon.

Obviously the Frog would have to fight (and hopefully suffer) before he could bask in the boy's mysterious riches. France's head was asking to be under his boot for taking what's rightfully _his._

* * *

><p>The young country before the foreigner grows increasingly wary and drops the flowers held earlier for the bear. The child begins to tear up as the man begins his musings and drinks in the nation before him with his stare all while letting out a lengthy, low, dark chuckle.<p>

Unable to take it anymore, the child attempts to break off whatever the thoughts the man has by speaking to him in a long ago tongue. The response from him was of that of a horrified look. Not good.

The colony panics and begins babbling garbled French, of which some is caught by the odd fellow. The child's words are responded to by the man as he tries to begin a simple conversation.

* * *

><p>The colony's tongue had sent had sent shivers down his spine.<p>

_Where in blazes did this child learn to speak that language? It's filthier than the language spoken by those who live here!_

Arthur soon notices that his response was not what the child desired and earned him a reply in rapid French. Arthur sighs and tries to shut the bloody little thing up (in any other occasion, Arthur would never acknowledge that _vile _language). The last thing Arthur wanted was for French to be spoken across this land and by the one who represented it.

"Do you speak English?" Arthur asks. The lack of emotion is chilling.

The response is slow as the child mulls over their answer. This comes off as mildly rude, but Arthur can't scold the child now for two reasons: 1. He is not his yet, and 2. Arthur will eventually have to teach the damn thing about true, proper, _English_ manners.

Who knows what that lascivious bastard taught him? It certainly would not match the Empire's standards.

"Y-yes!" the young colony squeaks, face as red as an apple. "W-who are you? You're n-not and inhabitant of this island."

_Stuttering too? Oh, how the work piles up. At least he knows English, but that awful accent will _have _to change. I'll only have to populate this place with more of my people. Always does the trick. If not then... well that toad will realise the extent of my true power._

"It is rude to not properly introduce yourself when you ask for another's name."

He braced his ears for he was indeed quite ready to hear a sweet, high-pitch voice state his name and Arthur would only take it as to one hearing a curse from a child.

"Je m'a- oops… you don't speak French. My name is New France!" the child beamed proudly until the child saw the man before give a look of disgust. Her face fell. "Uh… you can call me Madison like Francis does..."

_Oh, the Lord and above, that swine gave the kid a girl's name when he- wait what?_

"You're a girl?"

"Yes?"

"Surely you jest."

"Are _you_a girl?"

"No but that is besides the point-"

"If you're not a girl then I am. You're a funny mister" she giggled.

Arthur finds himself dragged back into his thoughts. Greed clouds his mind thickly, and he begins to plot. He always did want a girl. They were always easier to tame and ever so obedient and meek in this day and age.

His thoughts are cut short as a sharp pain stabs his leg and his eyes snap to see that filthy animal the girl had been holding gnawing at his leg. What a waste! His cotton pants were of the highest quality cotton from America's plantations, and now they were ruined.

The girl quickly scurries over to an unimpressed Arthur and slowly pries her animal off. She quickly apologizes in that hideous language of hers before her big, round eyes firmly capture the emerald green ones of the man before her.

"You didn't answer my question after I said my name!" Her lips form an adorable pout. "Who are you?"

Arthur tenses slightly. He could lie to the child so that he can stay here longer and forage for any scrap of trust he can, but that is a waste of time, and cowardly nonetheless. He was no animal who ate from the scraps of a grand feast. He wanted the banquet and besides, lying never did any justice, so playing straightforward will just have to do.

"I am England."

The young nation tenses.

That Frog probably told her monstrous lies about himself. Another thing he will have to fix, he supposes. All will be settled in due time.

Madison slowly backs away before she stumbles on her gown and falls backwards onto her back. She drags herself back like an adorably scared and trapped animal, not taking the time to stand back upon her feet.

England glares at the child. His green eyes pierce her soul and he uses that opportunity to command her, without words, to carry on with her petty flower-picking activities. To his dismay, she does not. Arthur blamed it on her French part. They never were good listeners.

Unable to quell the burning desire anymore, Arthur darkly chuckles once more to the shuddering child, "please do carry on with picky flowers for your dear, _sweet_Francis."

He knew that the Frenchman would be less than thrilled to discover his sweet, defenceless colony had been fraternizing with the enemy, and using any means to calm the Frenchie down from his anger at their interaction would be favourable (and Arthur couldn't stand the fact of the frog disciplining what is his for any longer. That and the ungrateful fool should be proud she is conversing with better folks).

"Oh, and do tell him that I send him my regards and may the best win."

The girl nods back, slightly confused, and bites down on the question she wishes to ask but can't. If she does, the fear of whatever threads that were keeping her in her position as a country representation with France at her side would immediately snap.

Arthur simply turns his back to the young colony and walks away, laughing darkly under the clear blue sky of the vast lands. _His lands_.

* * *

><p>AN: And done chapter 1. Why yes England is indeed a jerk and a creeper. Those who did not read my warnings must have been disturbed and that means I have succeeded in something.

I'll try to clear some things here if it wasn't too obvious from the story:

1. Arthurcentrism – the belief that Arthur is better than everyone and therefore he does not fall into the lines of eurocentrism. This is not to be confused with Alfredcentrism which will be touched upon in later chapters.

2. I wanted Canada to be picking some of Newfoundland's provincial flower but that would be one disturbing bouquet. I can just imagine the delight on France's face when he receives a bunch of pitcher plants.

3. Canada is referred to as a male by England as he believes that he can safely assume that the nation is a male. There are like 8 females nations so it must be a nation-thing per se for guys to be more common than girls.

4. England assumes female nations to be weak and that they really have no say of what they do. My thoughts on this are different, but I digress.

5. The spine tingling language Canada spoke in was Old Norse. The Vikings did discover Newfoundland first.

6. Canada can speak English because there are English settlers in her land. Sure these lands are owned by England at the time but I feel that if a country feels a connection to that land, then they can speak the language of the inhabitants. The only reason her accent is messed up is because she isn't used to speaking the language and cannot firmly grasp a proper English accent. That and France owns her officially. Is this messed up? Sure but hey, it works.

Comments, questions and criticisms are welcome. If you wish to flame me, nothing is stopping you there but at least make it good. Nothing brightens my day than some good flames.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: It's about that time of the year folks - time for everyone to relish in the joys of that in which we call France! I do apologize for the lack of France nudity but after many failed attempts (and an unwillingness to scar an innocent Canada), France will keep his clothes on. To those who wish to read about a naked France, this is not the place to do so.

I forgot to include in the first chapter how this story will break off into parts. Part 1 will appropriately end with, of course, the Seven Year's War. I also decided to stop being indecisive about the time and made it so that is now March, 1689. So it's around 67 years away from the Seven Years' War. Your fill of pairings may have to wait.

Originally, Arthur was to make an appearance with Alfred this chapter but it screwed with the flow too much. The next chapter will have the two.

Lucky709, yes her name is Madison. I know it's a bit too English sounding but I'm not too fond of the name Madeleine for her. I had heard somewhere that Himaruya mentioned liking the name Marguerite but I think the nickname you get from that is either Meg or Peggy, which I don't like at all.

Warnings: Language, historical inaccuracy, potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, France's rainbow-filled heart, weekly updates, sarcasm, an unwillingness to dare use French, a deep France, a sad Canada, etc…

Characters: Fem!Canada, and France. Mentions of England.

Pairings: Family Fem!Canada x France. If you want to see it more than that well... I pity poor Canada; she never saw what was coming.

Word count: 1963

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia. With how I draw, many of you should see it as a blessing.

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><p><strong>Fear and the Willingness to Act<strong>

_Something always has to give if you want something, right?_

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><p>Francis was a rather sensitive man when it came to external affairs. He governed his colonies so that they were completely dependent on him. He would not have it any other way. It always shattered his poor heart to smithereens when he saw colonies that simply were not getting the love they needed to grow in order to be prosperous and powerful. As such, he would give a little love and in return, be rewarded greatly. That and the man would and could at any given time pride him on the constant love he received from them (unlike a certain fuzzy-browed freak).<p>

Now, for Francis to express his love to his colonies was not cheap endeavor. Colonies were expensive to maintain, but he couldn't help it. He loved them too much. Their mysteries were simply too enticing for him. Their secrets left him exploring and craving _more _out of their lands. It always filled France's heart with joy when his colonies became more and more French. He loved the way they enjoyed _his_ food, _his_ language and partaking in_ his _culture.

Nothing would destroy his empire. _Nothing_.

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><p>When Madison had come home with her bear in tow, her eyes were filled with pure fear (something Francis abhorred seeing on anyone's face, especially that of his little princess), causing him to be overcome with concern that seemed to emit from his very being.<p>

The Frenchman quickly scooped her up and questioned, 'are you okay?' while gently embracing the young colony. His eyes began to form glistening tears that slowly fell down his cheek. This in turn caused the girl to let out muffled out sobs into Francis' fine silk shirt.

When her quivering and tears died down, France sat the colony down, towering over her, and resumed in his advances to get something out of his dear, sweet colony. At first, France assumed that Madison was crying over the strange flowers she held as they looked slightly wilted- those flowers weren't native to where they currently were. Madison's pure white night gown was stained with the brown of the earth. Her polar bear had faint traces of blood over its mouth.

_Something had happened_. And it was in _his_sphere of influence no less!

Anger built up within the man, but he couldn't let it out and break the facade of calmness he needed to extract information from the girl.

"Mon ange, whatever is the matter?"

Silence.

"How am I to help you if I do not know what is wrong?"

Silence.

The facade began to slip.

"I demand you tell me!" His voice resonated in the lavish room that served as his library while in the New World.

A whimper was the only reply he got and her glassy eyes became more watery each second. How France hated those faces. He preferred his colonies to be happy, not sad.

"Oh oh oh, ma petite cherie! Please do not cry. Hush now. See, everything is alright. You are safe.  
>Now tell me what is bothering you, <em>please<em>! It always makes one feel better if they let out their feelings. Bottling it up is no good."

She sniffled out a meek response, "I met a monster today."

"A monster?" France replied incredulously.

"Yes, he was tall and had white skin and had ugly hair but at least it was a pretty blond like yours and he-" she squeaked abruptly. Her face was turning blue from the lack of oxygen.

"Ma petite cherie, remember to breathe," Francis said with a hint of amusement while stroking her curly locks.

Madison took a huge gulp of air and continued.

"He wore weird clothes that weren't as fancy as yours and he looked weird."

"Weird? Care to explain how this man is weird?" France replied, all while holding in a chuckle.

"He had eyebrows the size of caterpillars a-and his eyes were as green as the grass that blesses the land in the spring."

Francis' breath hitched. His heart started to pound hard in his chest and the look of worry filled his face. It was a strange thing for France to look worried and considered to be as rare as finding a four-leafed clover. Only his rivals would find that face a lucky one, and chances are they would paint pictures of that look as mementos for future insult material if they had the chance (thank goodness it was only his princess who could see it right now).

Madison did not like seeing this look on Francis face and quickly cupped her hands around his cheeks.

"Big brother?"

"O-oh, forgive me mon ange. I was just thinking t-to m-myself," he stuttered while looking into his colony's eyes.

Francis knew all too well of whom his poor, innocent colony was talking about.

"Ma petite chou, do you know who this man is?"

"He said his name was... was E-England."

Francis winced over the uttering of that bastard's name.

"I-I'm so sorry. I knew better than to wander outside this land but something was telling me to go there," she sobbed.

Francis began to slightly rub his temples as a headache began to form.

_Why did that uncivilized cretin decide to strike now? Especially during this time for him-_

"It is okay, ma petite cherie. I did not expect that man to be wandering around in this part of the world, considering _that_event has not even ended and his wounds are fresh," Francis said in an attempt to wave off her mistake and yet the underlying tone of fear was, still, all too evident.

"What event?" she replied, curiosity replaced whatever fear and sadness that was in her eyes.

"A revolution."

"A what?"

"A revolution. I want you to know that if you ever find yourself near a nation who is experiencing this, please stay away and keep true to who you are and want to be, mon ange. Nations at these sorts of times just... aren't the same person you knew prior to the event and most certainly do not come out being the exact same for a long time. The fires of chaos affect us all too well and the voice of sanity takes her time in quenching those flames."

"I-I'll try. You won't ever become like that right, big brother?"

"Of course not!"

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><p>The grandfather clock rung twice and the sound vibrated throughout the house to let everyone know that it was 2:00 in the afternoon.<p>

The young colony in Francis' arms let out a yawn and Francis quickly called upon a servant to escort her to her room for a nap.

"Big brother, I have to tell you something before I fall asleep," she yawned as her doe-like eyes soon became filled with the desire to rest.

"What is it ma petite cherie?"

"That man told me to say something to you. He wanted me to give you his regards and 'may the best win.'"

Francis found himself tense slightly and lightly replied, "Do not think too much about that, and sweet dreams."

The door to the library shut quietly and Madison was no longer in the Frenchman's sight. All Francis could do now was sit back and think about that menace while pouring himself a glass of the finest wine in his possession.

Francis knew far too well from experience that Europe was a mess and having something someone else desired only landed you in trouble. Borders in Europe changed as often as the circle of humans he associated with. The fact Arthur made his move now during a continental war and revolution meant he was serious. Hell, even Francis knew he shouldn't be here, but he wanted to see his dear girl's face. It would be many years, it seemed, before he would see her again. Too many wars worked out like this.

Lying back on the ornate furniture, France's eyes drifted on a map of the New World and his eyes started tracing the borders. To the south, New England (a disgusting name Francis adds) lay. It was a threat now and the need to conquer that place was all the more necessary for his darling girl's safety. Imagine what atrocities that brute would commit if his New France were to be under his jurisdiction!

The idea tasted sour in his mouth. This realization only prompted him to want write a letter of sorts to instruct the officials within New France to find a way to gain a leg up on the larger English colonies. An idea popped into his head. It wasn't out of the ordinary to request allies- especially from _those people_as well.

He quickly drew up a letter and placed it in an envelope and sealed the envelope with wax and his seal. This was a letter of top priority. Even though it would reach the men in a few minutes due to his proximity to its capital in his beautiful Quebec, France wished to show some flair and elegance. Francis called for a servant and he took the letter to deliver it, leaving France alone in the library once again.

When the servant returned, assuring Francis that the letter had been delivered and the demands he made were going to be implemented, Francis ordered the person to pack all of his belongings.

Tomorrow he would set sail.

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><p>When Madison awoke from her nap, she heard the chaotic noise of people scrambling within the house.<p>

Carefully, the blond jumped out of her bed (that Francis often boasted was fit for a little princess like herself) onto the cool floor and tip-toed to the door. Her steps were wobbly as she was not yet fully awake. She was lucky to have not tripped over the new, cleaner blue night gown she had apparently donned before sleeping.

'_Someone changed my clothes and cleaned me up_,' she thought while rubbing her eyes.

Madison pressed her ear to the door to get a better listen to the voices outside. The only thing she caught was muffled chattering that sounded slightly distressed.

"_Big brother is probably rearranging the furniture again_," she giggled as her bear waddled up to her.

"Hungry."

"Oh! Sorry Kumarie, I don't have any food for you now. It's getting late, so they probably are almost done preparing dinner for us. I just need a little help to get dressed. Mind lifting me up?"

Kumarie crouched to allow the small girl to get up onto her back and reach up to turn the door handle. Once the mission was completed, she noticed the maid who always checked on her after her naps walk on by. She was a nice lady; at least that's was what Madison thought as the maid, seeing she was awake, picked the girl up and dressed her in a fancy dress. Francis couldn't stand being informal at dinners, even amongst family members.

The strangest part to this all for the girl was the fact she was wearing a fancier dress than usual. She could tell because this one seemed puffier and had elaborate details, like bows.

Madison only wore these dresses when Francis was going to leave. Sadly, the conversation when they had dinner proved his too soon departure. The only reply Madison could come up with was 'have a safe trip!' while she forced a smile.

Threads were beginning to fray and the girl cried herself to sleep.

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><p>Morning arrived faster than usual for the Frenchman as he set out for the docks. He refused to bid farewell to his colony as the last face of hers he wanted to remember was her smile, no matter how forced it was.<p>

Today was the day he leaves his little sister alone for what seems to be an eternity.

_Fate is such a cruel mistress. Cruel indeed._

* * *

><p>AN: My starting point is, as I stated 1689. I could have gone earlier but I don't want to dwell on the aspect of war too much in this fic. This is going to be a romance but it'll take a while before I actually get to the pairing I assume you all want to see.

Oh and I hope you all pay attention to all that foreshadowing. I don't want any of you to get a heart attack when you figure it out too late.

Translations:  
>Ma petite cherie - my little dear<br>Mon ange - my angel  
>Ma petite chou - my little cabbage<p>

I'll try to clear some things here if it wasn't too obvious from the story:

1. France's methods of colonization were different than Britain's. In every new settlement, there would be few people to populate the place. Apparently this was to get people more used to this land and the same can be said vice versa. That and they were very hands on with their colonies unlike Britain who allowed their colonies to have some control in their own matters.

Another differentiation was besides business opportunities, the French wanted to spread Roman Catholicism and French culture. Often missionaries would travel with explorers and fur traders to spread their faith. As for the French culture, France wanted their colonies to be truly French and that they should be proud of their French culture. This way of colonization was too expensive.

2. I hate using online translators as they aren't very accurate. As such, I won't even attempt to have my characters speaking to each other only in their respective languages. I might do blurbs here and there but they'll only be endearments at most. I really should have continued French in junior high but no, I had to be difficult and learn Spanish. That said, I really am not too fond of seeing too much text in a foreign language. It does make the characters more realistic but ehhh, this will have to do.

So whenever Francis and Madison converse, it is in French. It's English between Arthur and Madison and Alfred. As for Francis and Arthur, they talk in their own language but can understand each other (even though they hate the idea of knowing each other's language).

3. The revolution I was referring to was the Glorious Revolution (1688 - 1689). With a revolution, as well as the Nine Year' War, in Europe, I doubt England is in the right of mind at the moment.

4. From what I have read up on, America should be called New England because he lived under England's rule. I decided to make it easier and not change his name as the whole name thing is messed up as is. Certain parts of the US, as well as Canada, were ruled by the Spanish, British and English and I'm pretty sure they named their colonies differently.

If there are any mistakes in this chapter, feel free to tell me.

Comments, questions and criticisms are welcome. If you wish to flame me, nothing is stopping you there but at least make it good. Nothing brightens my day more than some good flames.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: As I mentioned last chapter, this chapter has some Arthur and Alfred moments. I know that the anime made their interactions really fluffy but ehh, my Arthur is insane. Who says he has to be straightforward about his feelings when he already has America? He can say one thing and do another. Why? Because he's freaking England and no one can question his Arthurcentrism.

Editing this chapter with my friends was hilarious. Credits to Codename Chester for helping my fairytale and making it epic and for Codename Minerva's critical eye and helping make Arthur creepier (and for being the thesaurus lady she is).

Warnings: Language, historical inaccuracy, potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, weekly updates, more creepy England, slight verbal abuse, odd fairy tales, drama, etc…

Characters: USA, and England. Mentions of fem!Canada and France.

Pairings: Dark!UK x US. Yeah... I can't explain the relationship this chapter.

Slight Fem!Canada x USA. How I do this is bizarre.

Slight Fem!Canada x UK. You might see it better under a microscope at 1000x magnification.

Word count: 3070

Disclaimers: Last time I checked, I still didn't own Hetalia. I'm sure that I don't own it now. And I want to own a cat (If you find Japanese bobtails and Irish folds just hanging around, contact Minerva via smoke signals. Or an interpretive dance video uploaded onto YouTube).

* * *

><p><strong>White Lies and Strange Fairy Tales<strong>

_Were fairy tales ever supposed to be this grotesque?_

* * *

><p>When Arthur arrived at his colony, the Dominion of New England, he was in a foul mood. The trip so far was horrendous, to put it mildly. The time it took to travel through the bleak landscapes would blacken anyone's mood. His foul mood was further exacerbated by the fact that the revolution was beginning to take a toll, physically and mentally, upon him. He approved of the revolution since he ardently despised the bastard he had to acknowledge as his liege. Yet at times it felt as if his body was being ripped apart, and he could only curse and grit his teeth against the pain. There was also the bloody war going on simultaneously. Arthur <em>adored<em> bloodshed; there was no doubt about it, but the pain lessened the joy of having his bloodlust sated. The sole highlight of trip was stumbling upon the meek colony. The encounter had aroused his desires to grasp, to conquer, to dominate everything graced by the sun.

The carriage abruptly stopped, jolting Arthur out of his ruminations. They had arrived at their destination.

Before exiting the carriage, Arthur mentally prepared himself for his visit with Alfred. It was apt to say that Alfred was a sweet, naïve, and adorable boy. Being around the brat sickened Arthur. How he abhorred the innocence surrounding the boy. It made him want to taint the boy, wanted the sky blue eyes to darken. How he desired to push the boy to the brink, and make it so that Alfred was so desolate, so broken that he threw himself off the cliff into abyss. The sole thing Arthur appreciated in Alfred was his loyalty. His loyalty to the Empire made Arthur proud to know that at least some people enjoyed his company (unlike his accursed brothers who were laughing at his misfortunes. They would be dealt with soon enough though, and most definitely would blood be spilt. Oh, how he loved the metallic tang of the crimson liquid).

Exiting the carriage, Arthur critically surveyed the grounds. Nothing seemed amiss. He nodded to himself briskly in satisfaction. Using his ivory cane as a means to steady himself (damn his aching leg), Arthur slowly walked to the door with his head up high.

_Curse that mangy, wrenched beast. Daring to gnaw at my leg and ruining my trousers. The first thing I'll do when I acquire the girl is to shoot that accused thing. Its blasted head will make a nice mantelpiece, and I'm sure my hunting dogs will enjoy devouring its carcass._

When Arthur had managed to subtly limp his way to the door, a servant automatically opened it for him. They had expected him to arrive sooner but understood why he was delayed.

The servant quickly took Arthur's coat and cane and asked if there was anything he needed to retrieve from the coach. Arthur coolly replied in the negative, stating that his luggage would remain on the ship since he did not plan on staying past high noon. He received a brisk nod and a quick bow from the servant who then whisked his articles away.

Glancing around the entrance, Alfred was nowhere in sight. Usually the young colony would jump on Arthur the moment he entered (in which he would then be scolded for not showing respect).

"Little whelp should be honoured that I'm visiting him instead of my other colonies. He should have scurried to welcome me," he muttered under his breath.

Arthur unsteadily walked to the one place where he knew Alfred would be- the backyard.

Sighing to himself, Arthur thought _'He better not have ruined my rose bushes like the last time or he'll earn more than just a few thorns up his backside.'_ The elder nation stopped at the backdoor and slowly turned the knob to gently open the door.

As expected, Alfred was there.

The young nation was running around, his white nightgown (very similar to the one _she_ had, Arthur thought) fluttering with each movement, trying to catch a butterfly.

"Hey! Wait up! I'm not going to hurt you!" The child yelled. "I'm not scary at all so let me catch you!"

With a leap, Alfred caught his prey. Its wings crumpled in his hands and it stilled.

"H-huh?" He examined the butterfly, "W-why won't you move?" Tears began to form in his eyes. "Are you okay? I was supposed to c-catch you a-and w-we... together a-and play"

The butterfly didn't move but Alfred couldn't accept that. Taking Alfred's tenacity, and the futility of it, into consideration, Arthur quickly stepped in so he wouldn't have to deal with anymore tears.

"Alfred, stop your pathetic sniffling. You are a nation, so act with some dignity befitting that fact and cease being such a snot-nosed brat."

"Arthur!" Alfred sniffled, yet at the same time looked thrilled to see his caretaker.

The young colony quickly smeared the remnants of the bug all over his frilly frock in a sad attempt to clean his hands; he would not be touching Arthur anytime soon with those filthy things. Upon closer examination, the frock wasn't pure white like _hers_ was. It was far from clean, as the thing was covered in fresh grass stains, mud, something oddly resembling thorns from his bush (_why how dare_- must keep calm or I'll ruin my chances), and newly acquired stains from a now long forgotten bug.

Alfred always had been good at forgetting what he was doing when Arthur was around. This only made the elder nation smirk at how important he was to the naïve thing. But Arthur was not here to commend this. Far from that.

"Alfred, I see you have ruined my rose bushes that I _carefully_ took care of. You know full well how I do not tolerate you smashing the petals in your silly games."

Alfred could only look down. He knew crying would not solve anything. That was the first thing he learned from Arthur. The second was to be more mature (but Alfred knew that Arthur wouldn't even try to enforce this rule yet until the first thing he was to was achieved. Too bad for Arthur that Alfred wasn't very keen on getting past that).

"I'm sorry," he sniffled.

"And?"

"And I promise not to do it again."

"Do you know why you won't do it again?" Arthur never missed an opportunity to instill respect into any of his colonies.

"Because it's improper and heroes don't make people sad."

"Incorrect. You better get that-" an idea suddenly struck the Englishman's mind. Acting bashful to cover his sentence up, Arthur quickly changed the direction of his sentence. "One cannot be a hero unless they are valiant and risk their lives to protect those who need help, you know."

This utterly shocked the colony. Arthur had never (never _ever_) approved of Alfred's desire to be a hero. He would always wave it off as immature, but here was Arthur telling the young nation how to be a hero. This made the colony jittery with excitement.

"Really?"

"Of course. I would tell you more on how to be a hero but... I feel you're just not ready."

"Not ready? I'm ready. Look! I am ready!" He attempted to do a handstand and promptly fell onto his back.

"I don't know. With what has been going around in the Thirteen Colonies, I feel I cannot trust you with this."

"What do you mean, Arthur?" he said, standing back up.

"I feel worried that you might betray me," a lone tear fell from the Englishman's cat-like eye.

"Don't worry! I will be loyal to you and even if my people aren't happy with you, I'll make them understand that you're a nice person."

_How adorable. And easy to manipulate too._

"Promise?"

"Promise!"

"Hmmm," Arthur mused to himself, "I suppose I can allow this to pass just once. It is _that Roman Catholic's_ fault that this mess started so it's only fair to allow a little chaos spread." He began to darkly chuckle to himself.

"Arthur!" Alfred desperately yelled for attention. He never liked it when England did that.

"Yes?" Drawled Arthur. His mind was still clouded by fits of insanity and burning desire.

"I heard that you were leaving later today."

"Oh?" Feigning an apologetic look, Arthur quickly replied, "I'm sorry I can't stay longer. Things are not going well. I would love to spend more time with you but I feel like I won't be able to for a while. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'll wait for your return. You always come back!" The young boy beamed.

"Of course I do. I enjoy travelling here to meet you." The lie slipped smoothly from Arthur's silver tongue. He despised visiting his clingy colonies. Only the frog did that and his way of controlling his colonies was too expensive. Colonies were supposed to produce capital. Their purpose was to serve the empire and its desires. Nothing else.

"You're the best, Arthur!"

"Thank you."

"Hey Arthur, mind reading me a story before you go?" His ocean blue eyes averted from Arthur's emerald ones while a small blush bashfully crept onto his skin.

_Her eyes were much darker and her skin fairer._

"Of course I will. I'll get the maids to clean you up a bit and I'll tell you a story in the library."

"The library! You never let me go there!"

"It has been a long time since I saw you last so I thought that I would give you a treat."

_A treat indeed for me if everything goes as planned._

* * *

><p>Double doors opened to reveal the library, a magical world in Alfred's eyes.<p>

It served as Arthur's study whenever he visited. At all other times, the room would be locked, at least until Alfred grew up.

Thick books covered the shelves that made up the walls in the room. An antique desk with an ornate chair stood prominently at the furthest end. The window behind the desk flooded the room with light, giving the room a magical feel.

Arthur leaned back in a large leather armchair with a distinct noble air about it. Alfred enthusiastically bounced upon the matching footstool. This time, there was no book in the man's hand which confused the child greatly.

"Arthur, I thought you were going to tell a story!"

"I am, so just sit down lad."

"Where is your book?"

"You don't always need a book to tell a story. Now, no more questions."

* * *

><p><em>Once upon a time, there was a young knight, Prince Alfred.<em>

"Hey! He has my name!"

_That knight had an elder brother named King Arthur._

"And that's _your_ name!"

_King Arthur had recently been having troubles with the neighbouring nation to the north. There would often be land disputes between the two nations, each one worse than the last. Borders changed with such frequency that living in one country one month and in the other the next became normal occurrence for some._

_Both nations wished to increase their territory to benefit their people. This was what the King of the South, Arthur, thought until one day..._

_Arthur's scouts stationed in the North came back with a disturbing report. The neighbouring nation was ruled by a cruel, old warlock King who went by Francis Bonnefoy, who abused his citizens and imposed heavy grain taxes on the peasants, effectively starving them. Francis had stolen power from the last King by kidnapping the princess and locking her away in the highest tower in the castle. The current tensions between the North and South were the all the warlock's construction._

"No! Arthur has _got _to do something!"

"Patience, Alfred. Patience."

_At the realization that the wars could be ended by taking care of the Warlock, Arthur dispatched his army to lay siege to the enemy capital and free the princess. Leading the South's army was none other than Arthur's brother, Alfred._

_Alfred had great potential for strength. He knew his assignment to save the princess would be very dangerous, but he unwaveringly trusted his brother, and a hero would never back away from saving a damsel in distress._

"Alfred better get his princess back!"

_The nation to the north was different than the one Alfred was used to. It was colder and snowed there for much of the year, but the knight would not let that get to him. He had to defeat the evil warlock and save the princess._

_There were countless battles leading up to the siege of the capital. The smaller northern army was beginning to look battered. Their defence was pitiful in the face of the might of the northern army._

_Leaving the clearing of the city to the rest of his army, Alfred took it upon himself to slay the evil warlock and save what would be _his _princess._

_Alfred threw his grappling hook made of spider silk (the royal weavers had made it for just this occasion), over the battlements' wall and climbed to the top. He vaulted off the wall and onto the soft grass the courtyard, which was deserted save for a maid who shrieked and ran when he hit the ground. The night was beautiful. The only sounds that could be heard were the cicadas in the garden and the muffled yells of his men taking over the town. The prince kicked down one of the doors leading into into the castle, and tried to get his bearings to head towards the centre of the castle where he knew the Great Hall would be. The hallways had tapestries depicting orgies on velvet and silk, which muffled the echo of his footfalls as he ran down one of the main arteries of the castle. Abruptly, the hallway ended in a hall which at one end had the doors to what Alfred assumed was the Great Hall. He pushed open the door and stepped into the opulent yet oppressive room where the Frog sat on his throne of skulls in all his gaudy glory._

"_Release the princess, you filthy scoundrel!" shouted Alfred, taking a step forward and drawing his gleaming sword, Emrys._

"_Hon hon hon," the warlock chortled, "Why should I? The princess and this kingdom are mine! Now turn tail before I'm tempted to turn you into a frog and eat your legs!"_

"_Scum! I shall not rest until this kingdom is free from your wretched clutches!"_

"_Since you insist, I suppose I have no choice," replied Francis , and he morphed into a vicious ochre dragon._

_The dragon exhaled his sour gaseous breath and clacked his teeth together to produce ignition. The blue-tinged flames surged towards the knight and the Prince could only fling himself behind a pillar for protection. Being burnt into a crisp was not how he hoped this day would end._

_The flames ceased as abruptly as they had begun. Alfred pulled away from the now warm pillar and dashed to the other end of the room while the dragon inhaled again. He had seen a small rope from the other end of the room, and hoped that it was what he thought it was; a chandelier cable, attached to the grand crystal chandelier on the ceiling._

_The dragon saw what he was about to do, but it was too late. Alfred sliced through the rope and the chandelier fell towards its destiny, smashing into the dragon's head with a dull thump and a tinkle. Francis fell, stunned, to the floor._

_Alfred ran towards the struggling warlock, sword streaming out behind him. With a war cry fit for the gods, he plunged Emrys into the dragon's breast. The warlock screamed and was forced back into his natural form before he fell to the ground, dead. As proof of his victory, Alfred lopped off Francis's head and stuck it onto the end of one of the ceremonial spears in the room. He propped the new decoration up against the throne to show the Northern King's supporters who the real leaders of this land should be; the Southerners._

_It was now time to free the princess. Alfred ran to the top of the highest tower, along the way wiping his sword on the obscene tapestries. He came upon the last door in the tower and ripped it open. He was awed at what he saw there._

_Her golden tresses cascaded down her back and her mauve eyes, initially filled with fear at the door flying open, were as warm as the sun. The young knight was smitten. He had found his damsel._

"_Who are you?" Her voice was melodious, and matched her appearance and stature completely._

"_My name is Alfred and I am the knight who has fought evil beasts to see you to your safety."_

"_For that, I thank you but I must ask you something. Did you come from the south?"_

"_Yes. Our nations have battled for too long, and I hope that you will bring peace to our feud."_

"_I hope so. From what I can see, you have gone through much hardship. Thank you for everything."_

_The princess gracefully moved towards the knight and gave him a peck on his forehead._

_The knight sputtered at such sign of affection. He quickly took the maiden's hand kissed the back of it._

"_It is my pleasure…"_

"_Madison. I am Madison."_

"_I see. The pleasure is mine, Madison."_

_With the rescue of the princess and the defeat of the warlock, the wars concluded. The two nations were forever joined after that by a bond of marriage, creating one of the most powerful kingdoms the world had ever seen. As for the prince and princess, they lived happily ever with Arthur reigning benevolently over the entire continent._

* * *

><p>"That was an amazing story, Arthur!"<p>

"Of course it was, I only tell the best. It's such a shame though," the elder nation sighed.

"What is?"

"The colony north of you. The poor thing is living under that horrid France's rule."

"What?" Alfred screamed, "You mean that my damsel needs help?"

"She does. You'll be able to save her, won't you? Just like the Alfred in the story."

"Of course!"

Arthur lifted Alfred up and stroked his sandy-blond locks, a cruel smirk adorning his lips.

_Marvellous. Simply marvellous._

For the remainder of his stay and on the voyage back home, Arthur's thoughts were in a state of chaos.

Things were beginning to fall into place, just as the threads began to fray.

* * *

><p>AN: The hero has found his damsel in the distress. I wonder if she'll approve of her self-proclaimed hero. My Alfred is messed in a disturbing yet innocent way. I really need to stop doing that to characters. Like seriously.

Next chapter, I'll try to sum up King William's War as best I can though it might end up being some huge chapter. The war's intention is only a build up of course. Fun things will happen during the signing of the treaty. Fun indeed... unless you're a certain someone.

I might as well all warn you that the next few chapters may be like that but that's how things roll. I do feel sorry for the lack of Mapletea, but you'll get what you later.

I'll try to clear some things here if it wasn't too obvious from the story:

1. Due to the Glorious Revolution, there was a collapse of the Dominion of New England and the overthrow of the Province of Maryland's government. The governor at the time was Edmund Andros and many law implementations, especially those concerning taxes, were not liked amongst the people.

When news reached of the overthrow of James II, the colonists of Boston revolted on April 18, 1689. The Dominion of New England then dissolved back into their previous forms of government.

2. The Roman Catholic Arthur was referring to was James II. His religious tolerance and his religious beliefs were not well-liked amongst his subjects. The Bill of Rights passed in 1689 prevented any Roman Catholic to ascend the throne or royalty to marry one.

3. In case if any of you were wondering about Alfred's age, he's still not of the age to wear men's clothing in this time period. He's around the age of 4 and usually boys would be breeched when they are the age of 5.

Madison is about the same age of Alfred.

If there are any mistakes, feel free tell me.

There won't be an update for this story next week. It'll take some time before I can complete the chapter. Instead I will be releasing a JapanUK oneshot. Feel free to read it if you want.


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